Delta-Zero
by K.S. Reynard
Summary: The unsolved murder of Fox McCloud five years after the end of the Anglar Wars leaves many unanswered questions in its wake. In the midst of a conspiracy spanning the entire Lylat System, Krystal is forced to pick up the pieces of her shattered life and move on without her leader. While the fallen may be quickly forgotten and lost to time forever, some memories die hard.
1. Prologue

_Author's Note(s):  
_

_Well, here it is - another year, and with it, another major project. Right. Now, let me cut to the chase: if no one shows any interest in this story, there's a chance that I'll take it down and focus on the other active stories that I've got going right now. I only have so much time, and it's no good wasting effort on something that nobody wants to read, especially since the amount of time that I have for writing seems to be constantly diminishing.  
_

_Also, readers of the Iridium Chronicle will notice several similarities in this story, although the storyline itself has absolutely nothing to do with that one._

* * *

**Δ-ZERO**

**Prologue**

Today stands as the tenth anniversary of the end to the most devastating conflict that the Lylat System has experienced to this date—and I strongly doubt that it will ever be surpassed. The losses in terms of infrastructure were enormous, but the effects on the citizens of Lylat were immeasurable. Even with most of the damage repaired, very few people talk about it today. The governing bodies have even gone as far as to remove the events from the school textbooks and to place heavy restrictions on publically speaking about them.

Because of this veil of secrecy, I—Thompson Solberg—decided three months ago that I would study the events of what has become known as the "Unspoken War." However, I was less concerned about the war itself than I was about the man who changed its outcome, and in the process, changed history. And the kicker? No one knew who he was. He had no name. He had no title. Many people who survived the war don't believe that he ever existed, but those who do tend to speak of him with a sense of deep reverence, as if they know that he did what no one else was capable of doing.

I'd heard stories of him ever since I was a boy; and as I matured, my interest in him only grew. Regrettably, the amount of material that I was able to find on him was disappointing, to say the least. I questioned many people of different positions to see if they could shed any light on him and his actions during the war, but I always ended up empty-handed. The lack of information drove me to the brink of insanity.

It was then that I realized that in order to discover more about _him_, I had to learn more about the war that he fought in; and along with the war, those who fought alongside him.

My first interview brought me to the frontier planet Katina, where I intended to meet with a former Cornerian PMC leader by name of Edward Valkyrie. I didn't know if he personally knew _him_ or not, but regardless of that, I knew that this soldier-turned-historian would be able to at least point me in the right direction. History is best told by those who helped to make it; and Valkyrie fought in the war from start to finish.

As I stepped into the former Commander's elegant, book-filled study, I had the feeling that I was taking the first step of a long journey to a distant, yet unknown destination. Behind a desk, engrossed in a large tome, was the canine form of the man that I had scheduled a meeting with. At first, I thought that he had been oblivious to my entry; but just as I opened my mouth to announce my arrival, he slammed his book shut and looked up at me with his fierce, icy eyes that hadn't lost any of the spark that they must have possessed when he was in his prime.

"I've been expecting you," he said with a sly grin. "So, you tell me that want to learn about the war that no one wants to talk about?"

"That would be correct," I replied.

The tall husky nodded and pointed towards one of the two leather chairs that sat across from his desk, which I dropped into. "Where should we start?" I asked.

Valkyrie raised his black-furred hand and stated, "To fully understand the causes of the Unspoken War, one must first understand the background events that led up to its inception."

**Interview One: Commander Edward Valkyrie, former Cornerian PMC**

**Date and time: December 15, 26 ALW, 1016 hours **

**Location: Greater Lamar University, Katina**

"In the storied history of Corneria—and indeed, the entire Lylat System—the events of the Unspoken War will forever be relegated to the dark realm of infamy. Many would like to forget about what happened five years after the defeat of the Anglars; but in spite of what the politicians want you to believe, the events are etched upon the chalkboard of history, exposed for all to look upon and remember.

For hundreds of years, the various powers and governments in the Lylat System fought amongst themselves, jockeying for power, influence, and recognition until it all finally came to a head with the war that shook the foundations of this system to its core. So significant was it that our calendar was reset to zero in remembrance of it. It goes without saying that I'm talking about the war with Andross and the Venom Army.

After that conflict, we were all forced to change the way our planetary systems operated. On March 4, 2 ALW, the leaders of the Lylatian planets signed an agreement that united the system under the flag of the Cornerian Federation, centered on the planet of Corneria. Noticeably, very little changed at first. The union was chiefly arranged as a way to prevent rogue leaders such as Andross from rising to power and very little else. However, when the system was attacked by the Aparoid race, we were once again forced to reevaluate our methods. The Lylatian military forces were not sufficient to expunge the insect-like creatures; and as before, we were forced to put our lives in the hands of Star Fox. Today, it goes without saying that we owe our very existences to their heroic efforts.

In the wake of the short but deadly Aparoid War, the Cornerian Federation was placed under the authority of the military, which oversaw the reconstruction of the worlds that the Aparoids had ravaged. We believed that the violence was finally at an end, but we were wrong. Even in death, Andross's hand continued to reach across the Lylat System in the form of the Anglars, which originated from the acidic seas of Venom. For the third time in a decade, we found ourselves locked in a war that consumed the entire system, once again outnumbered and outgunned by an enemy we never expected to encounter.

Morale hit an all-time low after the end of the Anglar War. The people were finished with the violence; and the planetary leaders knew this as well. Harsher sanctions, tighter regulations, greater levels of executive authority, and increased surveillance of suspicious activities were the understood course of action to prevent any new threats from arising and causing the same levels of damage and destruction that the three wars had already done to the once-proud Lylat System.

Many believed that the beginning of a new era of peace and prosperity was upon us; but it was not to be. This time, the people of Lylat faced an enemy unlike any other—an enemy who divided the people, betrayed their trust, and put the entire Lylatian populace on the brink of extinction—all in an attempt to satisfy his own ideologies. This was the beginning of a new age, but it was not the one anyone had expected or desired.

For us to be able to comprehend the ending of the war, we must start from the beginning."

"How much do you know about it?" I asked, not believing that this former mercenary could possibly know as much as he was suggesting that he did.

Valkyrie returned a cunning grin and replied, "More than most—and I'll be willing to divulge all of it to you under the condition that you don't make your research public."

Seeing as I didn't care about any money that I could have gained from the Commander's knowledge, I agreed to his terms and said, "I'll keep it to myself and anyone else who personally asks me about it."

"Fair enough. Let us begin, then."

- § -

The bright sunlight filtered through the pearlescent clouds on what was quickly becoming a picturesque Cornerian afternoon. All forecasts for the summer day had predicted warm temperatures in excess of eighty degrees Fahrenheit; and as the day went on, they proved to be correct. However, the heat had little effect on a certain Cerinian vixen as she stepped through the sliding glass doors of the supermarket located less than ten minutes from the house which she and her husband Fox shared.

She held in her hands four paper bags filled with ingredients for the special dinner that she planned to prepare for her husband in celebration of their fourth anniversary. The traditional act would have been to reserve a seat at a special downtown restaurant, but according to Krystal's Cerinian traditions, it was the wife's duty to prepare a meal at home. Many would have balked at such an idea, but Krystal had no issue with it. She knew that Fox loved her cooking and would be more than happy to reward her for her services in any number of affectionate ways.

After loading the bags into the trunk of her small, blue sedan, she started the engine and turned on the radio, which she had previously tuned to the local news broadcast as opposed to the music station that she normally listened to. She was unsure of why she had recently become more interested in the happenings in and around Corneria City, but she could not deny that her precautionary curiosity had been piqued not too long after Corneria's new Prime Minister had been sworn into office. Her slight change in behavior had caused her to wonder if her Cerinian intuition was acting up; but it had never failed her before. She felt perplexed at this point because she and Fox had met the Prime Minister before he had ever decided to run for office. Throughout their entire meeting, the Prime Minister—a red-furred vulpine named Alex Schauer— had exhibited the character of a man who possessed a solid set of values and character traits. The people of Corneria saw him as a man with the potential to become a worthy leader; and as a result, he handily defeated his rival candidate by a margin of more than seventy percent.

Dismissing her interest in the news as a passing whim, Krystal shifted her car into drive and was immediately stricken by a shockwave of anguish that stemmed from her mind. The pain spread throughout her body, immobilizing her and locking her into a fit of sheer terror. She had only felt the sensation once before, and that had been during the destruction of her homeworld. Terrified, concerned, and desperate to uncover the cause behind her sudden trauma, she turned up the volume of her radio and listened, intent on finding out if something of importance had occurred. However, the speaker for Corneria City's most trusted news broadcast continued to ramble on about the economic ramifications of the Prime Minister's new defense bill that would increase the power of Lylat's central intelligence unit along with its Corneria-based counterpart, known as the Department of Internal Security.

The thought occurred to her that something may have happened to someone whom she loved and cared about—namely Fox. She attempted to reach out to him through telepathy, but this was not something that normally worked unless she and Fox were within a mile of each other's position. No response came back to her, although she was unsurprised by this. Regardless, her fears were only stimulated by the mental silence that loomed over her consciousness like a heavy, black raincloud.

Refusing to waste any more time, she navigated her way out of the supermarket's parking lot and turned onto the road that ran adjacent to it. The clean, modern streets of the city's suburban district were mercifully low on traffic volume, allowing her to accelerate to a higher than normal rate of speed. The trees planted in the median that separated the left and right sides of the suburban avenue were normally a source of wonder to the vixen, but in her worry and concern, their beauty was lost on her.

Shaking with fear, she turned into the development where she and Fox resided. Large, well-appointed houses flanked the unmarked residential pavement, their yards reflecting an air of beauty and order that their owners and groundskeepers also possessed. The noises of summer filled the air, but the sound of Krystal's car's engine drowned them out with its mechanical growl. Speed restrictions meant nothing to her in the midst of her worry. If the local authorities had any qualms about her unsafe driving, she knew that she and Fox had more than enough money to pay off any traffic citation; and in the event that a stricter form of punishment was brought up, she could always play the 'planetary hero' card and get off scot-free.

Krystal brought her car to a halt at the appearance of the stop sign that marked the corner of the street where she lived and the road that had brought her into the development. The tall rows of bushes that provided a sense of security to her and Fox's residence soon became visible, and along with them, the medium-sized, somewhat understated gate that kept unwanted guests out. As she rounded the corner and prepared to turn into her gated driveway, she realized that the gate had already been opened. Upon pulling into the driveway, her heart palpitated in terror at the sight of what she saw inside her property—four police cars parked in the driveway. Yellow police tape surrounded the house, warning all passerby to stay back in order to avoid contaminating what was clearly a crime scene.

The world became a blur to her as she leaped out of her car and ran towards her house, attracting the attention of an imposing Alsatian officer who had remained outside in the event that someone like her entered the premises. "Stop right there," he growled. "Do you live here?"

"Yes…I do," Krystal gasped in response, still looking at the house and refusing to believe that what she was seeing was part of reality. "What happened? Is Fox okay?"

The officer's face assumed a stoic, regretful expression. "I'm sorry, ma'am; but it appears that your husband has been murdered."

Krystal felt a sensation of numbness shoot through her body. The officer's words stuck in her mind, repeating themselves with a haunting echo as she began to feel lightheaded. Her vision blurred within seconds, casting a shroud over her world that grew darker with each second. She felt herself losing her balance and falling to the concrete at her feet, but she felt no pain—only numbness and a feeling similar to the way one feels after stepping out into a blizzard while wearing clothes better suited for the beach. It was only a matter of seconds before her vision grew dark, leaving her limp form sprawled out on the driveway with her ears lowered, her fur on end, and her eyes squeezed shut.


	2. The Awakening

**Chapter 1: The Awakening**

_Two months later…_

In a clandestine bunker hidden forty feet underground, a pair of heavy, metallic gray blast doors slid open, revealing two figures dressed in dark gray military fatigues. The two stepped out of the narrow hallway which housed a series of rooms used for various purposes, although detention and interrogation were the unfortunate fates of most of the individuals who were brought to the bunker, which sat under the jurisdiction of the Cornerian Department of Internal Security.

The doors closed with a quiet clang as the two figures ascended a flight of wiry, yellow stairs to a catwalk suspended above a large, ovular chamber dominated by what seemed like a sea of computer screens and shouting employees, all in the service of the DIS's counter-intelligence arm. Taking a look at the controlled chaos below, the figure to the right—a dark-furred jackal who went by the name of Tom Hadrian—glanced at his superior officer with his peripheral vision and grunted, "I don't care what anyone says about this. Spying on the general public isn't going to do anyone any good, us included."

The large, black and white-furred ursine to Hadrian's left paused on the causeway and furrowed his eyebrows. "Perhaps not," he replied, "But it isn't your job to question an operation initiated by the Prime Minister, authorized by the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and operated by me. Mistrust cannot exist in this department. You took an oath of loyalty, Captain; and I expect you to maintain it, regardless of what you _feel_ is right."

"I never said I was questioning the orders, Supervisor. I was just making a logical observation."

The panda looked towards the dark ceiling ten feet above his head and muttered, "Sometimes, observance and insubordinance are one and the same. Now though, follow me—what I'm about to show you is of extreme importance to this agency, and I don't want your overly-open mind to put my original plan for you in jeopardy."

Hadrian fell silent in response to his supervisor's subtle warning and fell in behind him, following the path laid out by the narrow walkway. A turn to the left led the two down a dimly-lit passageway that never seemed to show the slightest iota of life or emotion. Actually—at least to Hadrian—the entire DIS complex felt that way. The sterility and the lifelessness of the facility were nearly haunting to him, even though more than two hundred individuals resided and worked inside the underground base.

"You've been in this part of the base, correct?" the Supervisor asked Hadrian while giving a subordinate basset officer a solemn nod as he walked past him.

Hadrian replied, "No—I never have. If you've forgotten, I haven't exactly been here for a long time. I'm not cleared to enter this area without prior consent from you or MCPO Marvis, either."

The ursine grunted and nodded his head. "Fair enough. From this point on, I'm giving you the authorization to access all parts of this area, although the Inner Laboratory is to remain off-limits to you for safety reasons."

"Thank you, sir," Hadrian replied, "But with all due respect, why is there a laboratory in a building designed for intelligence gathering and counter-intel?"

The panda gave his subordinate a sharp nudge and growled, "I wouldn't be asking questions like that if I were you, Captain. However, for understanding's sake, I'll give you the summary." Hadrian perked up his ears while the Supervisor explained, "Three months ago, the Cornerian Assembly passed a bill originally proposed by Prime Minister Schauer. The bill gives the Department of Internal Security the authorization to create an armed security force separate from the army and the militia. As part of the agreement, the DIS has gone forward with a procedure that the Zoness-based Carlyle Medical Corporation had been working on for years before Lylat United's intelligence agents shut them down for it. Before you open your mouth again, let me say this much: this information goes absolutely nowhere. Got it?"

Hadrian nodded and replied, "Yes, sir."

The Supervisor continued, "Since the time the bill passed, this agency has been working to put together a group of soldiers for the purpose of protecting the Lylat System and Corneria from the growing threat of terrorist and pirate aggression. In those three months, we've recruited and trained 5,000 independently-contracted mercenaries and bounty hunters for what we call the CTU—shorthand for Counter-Terrorism Unit and informally known as ONYX. This makes up the bulk of the force. However, our researchers didn't want Carlyle's medical knowledge being swept under the rug, so they analyzed the procedures that they had been testing and managed to replicate the results for themselves.

I have to say that I don't fully understand it, but from what Dr. Vairos has told me, his researchers have constructed five different sentient beings based on DNA and intact brain tissue taken from soldiers who were killed in action. As far as I can understand, the idea is for the new person to retain the abilities and combat experience of his or her former self, while not remembering anything about his past, his family, and even his own identity."

"They've come that far medically?" Hadrian inquired.

"You'd be shocked, Captain. It's almost scary what they're capable of doing these days. Anyhow, Dr. Vairos calls this experiment the 'Zero Project' because of the complete absence of memories that these soldiers have when they wake up. Right now, Zeros Alpha, Beta, and Gamma are all awake and in stable conditions. Zeros Delta and Epsilon are completed and ready for activation." He paused and then muttered, "I suppose it sounds like I'm treating them like machines, but you'd be incorrect. I've personally checked up on the first three, and they all act very much like 'normal' sentient beings, even though their physical makeups are almost completely artificial. Actually, Zero Beta is a sweetheart, although I have my doubts about Delta."

"Why do you say that?"

"It's not important," the ursine replied, waving his hand dismissively as he stepped through an opened blast door that began to close behind him with an accompanying siren and a flashing yellow light. "What happens in here stays in here," he sternly explained, giving Captain Hadrian a fierce scowl to reinforce his words.

The hallway remained relatively narrow as the two officers neared their destination, which lay around the next ninety-degree right turn. The illumination level in the tight space remained the same as it had before, albeit with the flashing yellow light providing a touch more radiance to the dismally dark corridor.

Around the corner was a door guarded by a large, gray lupine who stood directly in front of the access point with his hands on the assault rifle that hung from his shoulders and crossed his chest. Without a word, the Supervisor removed his I.D. tag from his pocket and flashed it at the guard, who read the title 'Xiao Ling, DIS Supervisor' and promptly stepped aside, allowing the panda to push the door open and escort Hadrian into the next room.

The door led through to yet another hallway, although this one ended abruptly with a large pane of glass that marked an overwatch area. Hadrian knew nothing about its intended purpose, but he had the feeling that it was his final destination. The light level in the secondary hallway was significantly brighter than most of the base's rooms and walkways; and it shone a bright white color that caused the jackal to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. Ling, however, remained unaffected as he stomped down the hallway, which allowed his large frame much more room to walk due to its increased width.

Upon reaching the large pane of glass at the end of the hall, Ling stopped and motioned for Hadrian to join him. Through the glass, a white chamber could be seen below, along with five surgeons and medical professionals of various species who stood around a medical table where a gray-furred fox rested beneath a white sheet. However, the one person who immediately attracted Hadrian's attention was an elderly lizard who looked like he had grabbed a high-tension wire and survived to tell about it. The man's figure reeked of eccentricity in a way that brought Andross's former persona to mind.

"Is that Dr. Vairos?" he asked Ling while pointing at the lizard, who seemed to be directing what was assumed to be the final stage of the medical procedure which he presided over.

"Yes," Ling replied. "I'm curious as to how this specimen is going to react when he wakes up. They've all acted differently so far. Alpha panicked at first when he couldn't remember anything, Beta cried and immediately submitted to us, and Gamma nearly killed one of the surgeons when he pointed a stungun at him. Personally, I don't have high hopes for Delta, but I guess there's a chance that it'll go well."

From the floor below, Dr. Vairos glanced up at the window overlooking the medical chamber and gave Ling the thumbs-up, signifying that the time to awaken the inanimate test subject had come.

"Here goes nothing," Ling whispered.

A mechanical whine began to fill the room below; and although it seemed quiet from behind the thick, sound-dampening glass, it was actually very loud in the medical area. Hadrian felt his eyes widen as the vulpine on the table began to stir. His formerly-lifeless form slowly faded into life, beginning with his extremities and filtering through the rest of his body until his eyes opened to the sight of the medical professionals standing around him.

The instant that his eyes shot open, an expression of fear and terror manifested itself on his face. In the room above, Ling bit his lip and cringed, knowing what would most likely happen next. True to his concern, the vulpine opened his mouth and let out a ferocious scream before ripping the white sheet off of his body and leaping off the table. The fact that he was completely undressed didn't seem to affect him, at least at first. The various shouts and yells from the medical staff did nothing to ease his panic; rather, they exacerbated it and caused him to lunge at the operator closest to him and shove her to the ground while violently shouting indiscernible words into her sensitive feline ears. Within seconds, he felt a sharp stabbing sensation in his back that was undoubtedly the byproduct of a hypodermic needle being inserted into his skin.

His vision began to blur and his panic vanished as he blacked out on the floor next to the terrified feline operator who picked herself off the floor and fearfully rejoined her medical comrades, who proceeded to pick up the vulpine's body, cover it with the sheet that he had discarded, and carry him up the stairs that led to the area where Hadrian and Ling stood watching.

"You look like you saw that coming," Hadrian observed.

Ling turned to face him and replied, "The instant I saw the fear in his eyes, I knew that it was going to get ugly. I hope you won't have to deal with anything like that in the near future."

Hadrian's face assumed a concerned expression. "What do you mean, sir?"

"You're going to be his handler for the first two months of his existence. I picked you for this job based on your past experience, and I know you won't disappoint me this time."

"S…Sir, I don't know if I can handle it," Hadrian nervously explained, "This is way over my head."

"I know," Ling smirked, "But I have confidence in you. Hey, at the very least, you should be glad you don't have to deal with Gamma. That guy's got anger issues."

The door to the left of the observation window soon opened, and the team of medical professionals carried the limp vulpine through it, walked past Ling and Hadrian, and then disappeared into a nearby room on the left side of the hallway. "That's where we'll be keeping him for a while. I suggest you move your supplies into that room while he's out," said Ling.

"You want me to room with him?" Hadrian worriedly asked.

Ling replied, "Yes, Captain. I expect you to give him his right to privacy when he needs it, but he needs someone around him to help him adapt. Remember, he doesn't remember _anything_ from his past life."

"Will his memories ever come back?"

Ling paused and took a deep breath. "I certainly hope not. Oh—one more thing: if he ever asks you who he is, I want you to tell him that he's nobody."

"Why?" Hadrian demanded.

"If the Zeros ever found out who they were, we would have a colossal mess on our hands. It would potentially put the existence of the Cornerian government at risk. The people of this planet can try to ignore being watched from time to time, but if they ever found out about this project and the possible implications that it carries, I fear that unrest and revolutionary activity could possibly stem from it."

"I see," Hadrian muttered, clenching his teeth. "Who is Delta, anyway?"

An unspoken fire raged in Supervisor Ling's green intense eyes as he replied, "You're asking too many questions again. It's not your business to know who he is. Now, before I change my mind and assign someone else to your position, get your things out of your quarters and move them into his. It'll only be two months before he'll be fine on his own—maybe even sooner."

"Yes, sir."

- § -

_Two hours later…_

Carrying the last of his bags, Captain Hadrian entered the room which he would be sharing with the nameless vulpine who went by the title of Delta. The room contained more than enough room for both of them despite its compact size. Two small, modest, military-grade beds occupied the corners of the white-painted room that also housed a rudimentary bathroom area with only the bare essentials, which amounted to a toilet, a small, basic shower stall, and a sink.

Hadrian dropped his bags next to his bedside, stepped into the center of the room's floor, and observed the incapacitated fox as he rested. The medical staff had tucked him under a white blanket on his bed, but while Hadrian had been retrieving his belongings from his own room, the DIS's staff had acquired suitable clothing for the unnamed gray vulpine. The black garments sat next to his bed, neatly folded and waiting for their owner to dress himself with them.

Suddenly, the stranger made an attempt to speak. His voice sounded dangerously faint, although it was most likely due to the heavy sedatives that he had been placed under. "What is this place?" he gasped.

Hadrian approached the vulpine's bedside but kept his distance. He gazed into the fox's fearful eyes that seemed to lack color entirely. Where green, blue, or brown would have been expected, only an icy shade of gray existed. Unsure of what to tell his new roommate, Hadrian replied, "I'm not sure I'm authorized to tell you where you are, but you're definitely somewhere safe."

"This must be some kind of mistake," the fox continued, fear dominating his voice as he spoke. "How did I get here? What are you doing with me? _Who am I?"_

Hadrian shook his head, remembering what Ling had told him to say in the event that his subject asked that very question. "I don't really know how to explain this to you, but you're nobody. You don't have a name. Your title is 'Zero Delta', but that's all there is to it. As for what I'm doing with you…well, I've been ordered to be your handler for the next two months."

"No offense, but I don't need your help," the vulpine replied.

"Maybe not, but from what I've gathered from you already, you're disoriented and a bit panicky as well. It's my job to help you out until you can operate on your own," Hadrian countered.

The gray fox groaned and glanced down at the floor, where his new clothes awaited him. Every piece of clothing was completely and utterly black—even his boxer shorts. He picked up the folded t-shirt from the top of the clothing pile and observed every part of it, from its soft fabric to its complete lack of any identifying regalia. Although the room around him had been painted in the brightest color possible, the one overhead light barely illuminated it. The overall feel of the room was more akin to a luxurious prison cell than a military residence. Every surface was nearly spotless, but the sterility of it was nearly sickening.

More than anything else, he wanted to go back to his home—even if he didn't have one. The lack of thoughts in his mind terrified him whenever he dared to enter his mind in an attempt to remember anything that may have existed in what would have been his past. More worrisome than the lack of memories, however, was that he understood the Cornerian language despite not remembering having learned it. As a test of his motor skills, he snaked his fingers back and forth, starting with his index finger and moving across his hand, then repeating the process in the other direction and on his other hand. Everything functioned correctly. He knew how to operate his body, but apart from that knowledge, he knew nothing about himself, his surroundings, or—perhaps most importantly—the reason for his existence.

"You're not going to keep me here forever, are you?" he worriedly asked, pleading with Hadrian to answer his question in a positive manner.

The jackal curled the corner of his mouth and answered, "Probably not. I'm only supposed to keep an eye on you for two months. I don't know what happens after that, though. You'll probably have to talk with my Supervisor about that."

"How soon can I do that? I still think someone's made a horrible mistake here."

Hadrian fixed his face into a grim scowl and said, "If anyone's made a mistake, it's you."

"What do you mean by that?" the vulpine demanded.

Pacing in a small circle in the center of the compact room, Hadrian explained, "You're here because of something that happened in your past; but don't go asking me what that was, because I don't know. Odds are that neither of us will ever really know."

Delta sat up in his bed and dropped his shirt on the sheets next to him. "Well, if you can't tell me who I am, can you tell me who you are?"

Hadrian let out a deep breath and uneasily replied, "The name's Captain Tom Hadrian."

In the next few seconds, a sharp knock resounded through the room's reinforced door before it was replaced by the sound of Xiao Ling's voice. "Captain Hadrian, I need to speak with you in the briefing room ASAP. Please confirm."

"Yes, sir," the jackal shouted, making sure to speak loudly enough for his voice to penetrate through the door. Turning to face the entrance to the room, he muttered, "This just keeps getting stranger." Before he opened the room's heavy door, he glanced toward Delta and said, "Don't get any ideas while I'm gone, because I'll be right back. Maybe you should get dressed while I'm out." Without waiting for his roommate to respond, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway before he barred the door from the outside to prevent Delta from accomplishing any attempt at escape that he may have been planning, even though such an act would have been futile.

Hadrian's walk to Supervisor Ling's office was marked by an uncomfortable feeling in his chest; but then again, he felt uncomfortable whenever the imposing panda approached him for any reason, no matter how trivial. He shuffled past dozens of military personnel without making any gestures to them, instead choosing to focus on what he believed the nature of his unexpected meeting with Ling was.

"_This is probably going to be about me talking too much and asking too many questions again," _he mused, feeling a growing uneasiness welling up inside of him. On the right side of the hall, the sign to Ling's meeting room became visible, its polished bronze background gleaming in spite of the dim lighting in the subterranean DIS bunker. Fearing that a stern lecture from his Supervisor was in store for him inside the room, he grasped the door's metallic handle and pushed it open.

Most of the space in Ling's meeting room was occupied by a large, rectangular table with a polished black surface. Four other military officers with ranks ranging from master sergeant to lieutenant commander sat around the table, leaving Ling himself with the seat at the back of the room. Hadrian felt his heart sink the instant the panda fixed his eyes on him.

"Have a seat, Captain Hadrian," he ordered, emotionless as ever.

The jackal abruptly yanked out a seat next to a golden eagle who wore the insignia of a first lieutenant and dropped into the chair as quickly as he possibly could. He took any measures he had at his disposal to avoid looking panicked, but his unease was more than obvious to the other officers who sat around the table. The silence in the room was painful, and it seemed to drag on for minutes until Ling spoke; although in reality, it had only been ten seconds.

"Thank you for your cooperation," said Ling, "Don't worry—this is not going to be a reprimand if that's what you were expecting." He subtly gestured to Hadrian and continued, "The purpose of this meeting is to explain the nature of what our top researcher has dubbed the 'Zero Project.' As you all know, you have been placed in command of the five Zeros who have recently been activated. Over the course of the next two months, you will supervise them as they take their proficiency tests, perform their combat training exercises, and simply live from day to day. I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you, but I promise that I and the Department of Internal Security will compensate your pay for your efforts. Those are the basics. Now, let me explain more about the plan for the Zeros."

The Supervisor took a few seconds to clear his throat and then explained, "In case you weren't aware of it, these five individuals are not normal in traditional sense. Their physical compositions are almost completely synthetic. Their bodies have been engineered for enhanced strength, flexibility, reaction time, and resistance to pain—both physical and mental. However, five soldiers—no matter how enhanced—are not a feasible solution to the ever-important need for more manpower. That is the ONYX unit's responsibility. These five Zeros are intended to be used as wildcards, so to speak. They will have no official rank, there will be no publically available information on them, and they will be permitted to bypass the chain of command if a situation calls for it. They will be trained to operate both separately and as a cohesive unit, making them formidable enemies to anyone who steps into their crosshairs. Now, before I continue any farther, do any of you have any questions?"

Silence reigned for several short seconds until the border collie with the rank of lieutenant commander spoke up and asked, "Does the DIS have a contingency plan in the event that these 'Zeros' become compromised for some reason? It's just a thought. There are only five of them, after all."

Ling nodded in agreement and replied, "You make a good point, Lieutenant Commander. However, I believe that the risk of them going rogue or becoming compromised is very small, mostly because they have each been implanted with an RFID chip that tracks their location and positioning at all times. If we see any signs of a problem, we'll be able to address it long before it becomes a threat."

"Fair enough," the canine conceded. "What kind of a role do we play in their brief development, then?"

Ling scratched his chin and answered, "Your job is to keep them in line and to imbue them with a sense of loyalty to the Cornerian cause. I, the Prime Minister, and the Secretary of Defense all know that the threat of interplanetary violence is greater than it has ever been before. If you all do your job, the Zeros could prove to be a valuable asset to our cause. Without any forms of identification on them, they would be able to operate without the risk of jeopardizing the diplomatic relationships of the Cornerian government."

A black-furred feline at the head of the table opposite from Ling raised his opinion and inquired, "What kind of operatives are you intending for them? Given their small numbers, it would seem that they would be best suited for strategic and covert objectives."

"Correct," Ling confirmed.

"Well, isn't that something that army special operatives are already equipped to do? If I'm honest, this seems like an opportunistic waste of resources," the feline admitted.

"I agree," said the Lieutenant Commander.

In the midst of the growing disagreement, Ling slammed his heavy hand down on the table and growled, "Listen! It might seem that way right now, but here's the difference: first off, the special operatives are tied to the army, which traces its chain of command back to its highest-ranking general. Sure—the Prime Minister has some authority over how the army operates; but for the most part, it's up to the general to manage it. In context, this makes it very difficult to carry out operations that would be better kept out of the public eye. With the Zeros on the other hand, the Department of Internal Security would have immediate access to a formidable covert ops group specifically designed to be virtually untraceable."

An air of suspicion fell over the room, but no one dared to venture any farther down the path that the conversation was taking. Instead, the feline at the head of the table asked Ling, "One thing about this that doesn't make any sense is that you expect a top-notch group to be ready for action in two months. Honestly, it takes years to train soldiers like the ones you have in mind. So, would you mind explaining how this all pans out?"

"I'm afraid that none of you are authorized to have access to that information," said Ling, "However, I am very confident that two months is a sufficient amount of time for their training. Just trust me—I know what I'm talking about. Now, are there any more questions? None? Good. You are all dismissed. Report to the dining hall with the Zero unit that you have been entrusted with at 1800 hours. The training starts tomorrow, so make sure that you're rested up."

* * *

_A/N:_

_Well, that's the end of chapter 1. This kind of gives you the idea of where this story is going, as well as the main powers at play in it. However, don't expect to see this story updated very often unless I get an abnormally high amount of feedback on it.  
_

_...And as always, your feedback is most welcome._


	3. Initiation

**Chapter 2: Initiation**

- § -

My time with Dr. Valkyrie was certainly well spent. Already, the husky had provided me with a wealth of information that no library tome on Corneria could provide. Unfortunately, my time with the former commander had to come to an end, as he was forced to leave his study to deliver a lecture in ancient Lylatian history to one of his numerous university classes. For a man of action, he seemed to have taken to peace better than most of his kind would have. Perhaps it was a knee-jerk reaction to something that he had experienced—as if a catalyst had sparked an irreversible change in his livelihood.

Dr. Valkyrie offered me a second meeting at the same time the following week, which I was more than happy to accept. For the time being though, I felt the need to continue my search for answers. Although _he _was my main interest, the other players in the wartime drama were also certain to hold secrets and tales of their own. In particular, my interest was piqued by Fox's McCloud's widowed wife Krystal. According to all sources, she disappeared near the end of the war, along with the man whose past I was the most concerned about uncovering. Whether or not their disappearances were related was unknown. At the very least, I had located a solid source on Krystal, who had claimed to be the only survivor of a dead planet known as Cerinia.

My source was a pink feline named Katt Monroe. Conveniently, she had chosen to settle down on Katina in a high-rise apartment located in the planet's largest metropolis, named Jasport. As one of the few places on the planet that could claim to possess a large body of water, the city had become known as the ideal destination for surfers, beachgoers, and tourists alike. The former destination for such activities had once been Corneria Beach, but I'd rather not speak about why it no longer held that honor…

Arranging a meeting with Miss Monroe was not difficult; and after a short flight from the university to a landing area in Jasport, I navigated through the tight, bustling city streets until I arrived at the restaurant where the pink feline awaited me. Her distinctive fur coat immediately attracted my attention as I rounded the corner of Jasport's second-largest avenue and noticed the sign for the restaurant marked "Lao Chung Sushi House." Katt sat outside the restaurant at a table with a large, green umbrella opened over it to protect it from the sun's heat. Her choice of the location at which to rendezvous didn't surprise me in the least, considering her species' preference for seafood. As an Alsatian dog of no small stature, I preferred the taste of red meat over nearly everything else.

**Interview Two: Katt Monroe, former mercenary and friend of Star Fox**

**Date and time: December 15, 26 ALW, 1616 hours **

**Location: Lao Chung Sushi House, Jasport, Katina**

Giving my host a generous, welcoming wave, I greeted her. "Good afternoon, Miss Monroe. Do you mind if I have a seat across from you?"

Katt batted her eyebrows and cracked a playful smile. "Not at all. And please—call me Katt."

Her displeasure of being given an honorific title came as no surprise to me. From everything I had read about her beforehand, she seemed like the laid-back, easygoing type.

Pulling out one of the metal chairs and seating myself in it, I posed the question, "First off, why do you dye your fur pink?"

My host was quick with a response that summed up her choice in the most succinct manner possible. "Hey—you noticed it, right? Besides, it just feels right to me. I was never one to blend in." Momentarily, her expression took on a more serious tone as she stared me in the eyes. "But you came to ask questions about Krystal, not my pink fur."

"Correct," I stated, crossing my legs in my seat. "More specifically, what happened to her? And how did she deal with losing her husband?"

Katt sighed and began, "Well, to start with, Krystal and I had been close friends for years. We met for the first time at a party in Corneria City that my boyfriend Falco threw. I was a bit sloshed, but I still somehow managed to make a good impression on Krystal. We got to know each other pretty quickly; and before too long, we called ourselves best friends. You see, I was always one to hang out with the guys. Being prissy and polished never appealed to me. So, I guess it's a bit surprising that I'd come to like Krystal, since she was both of those things—at least a little bit. However," she continued, "She had one heck of a fighting spirit. I guess that's why I was drawn to her. She struck me as the kind who could stand up for herself, as opposed to screaming and waiting for her man to rescue her from a big spider or something."

I chuckled at her comment, although I tried to keep it quiet for professionalism's sake. My most recent ex-girlfriend had been the exact kind of person that Katt had described.

Pressing onto the most relevant subject matter, I asked Miss Monroe—er…Katt—what happened to the blue vixen following her husband's shocking murder.

At my question, Katt's eyelids drooped in sadness, as if Fox's murder had been the catalyst for the end of her friendship with Krystal. She let out a sad feline whimper and explained, "I think any girl would have been ticked if someone knocked off her husband, but Krystal took it badly—_really_ badly. Not very many people knew it, but she kept a tremendous amount of anger bottled up inside over the years. I'd say it was because Andross blew up her planet and killed everyone she knew when she was younger; but whatever it was, it left a scar of hatred on her heart. Her life with Fox helped her to calm down and release her tensions, but when he was killed, she went off the deep end."

"How so?" I inquired.

Katt looked visibly perturbed at the mere thought of her departed friend, but she bravely answered my question. "Two weeks after Fox's death, she came to my flat and spilled her guts to me about how she wanted to get her revenge on Fox's murderer. It wasn't that part of it that bothered me, but it was _how_ she wanted to get her revenge that was worrying."

"How did she want to do it?"

The feline gritted her teeth and shook her head, saying, "I don't want to go into the details, but the gist of it was that she wanted to make him suffer for what he did to her life by killing Fox. She wanted to make his death as painful as possible—both physically and mentally."

"That's understandable," I murmured. Putting myself in Krystal's shoes for a moment, I could easily see how a normally compassionate woman like her could 'snap' so suddenly—except that in my eyes, so-called 'snaps' were caused by carefully hidden traumas buried just beneath the surface as not to arouse suspicion or grief from others.

"But it wasn't like her to act that way," Katt insisted. "She always managed to keep a level head, even when situations in her life made it almost impossible. This was different, though. Something about Fox's murder sent her back into one of the dark areas of her mind. I never saw her come out after that."

- § -

The heavy rain poured down on Corneria City, giving the metropolis a gloomy, oppressive aura. Fitting, thought Krystal. The teardrops coming down from the heavens seemed to parallel her own sadness at the loss of her husband, which still hung over her head after two months. She knew that he was irreplaceable to her; and as the only man who could claim to have rescued her from certain death, helped her through her most pressing trials, and showed her what it meant to be loved, he meant more to her than any other individual could have ever hoped to.

Without Fox, the only thing she could think to do was to join up with another combat unit and to reinitiate herself as a mercenary. All the lives she had taken as a member of Star Fox had been a strong source of persuasion for her to remain in a state of peaceful retirement; but without a man to share her life with, she saw no reason for it. After the destruction of Cerinia, mercenary work had become her life's sole purpose. Joining another unit in the wake of Fox's death seemed like the most logical choice for her.

The vixen used her long, silent taxi ride to one of the more 'downturn' areas of Corneria City in order to reflect on her decision. Feeling the need for action, she had enlisted the help of Falco and a number of other mercenaries whom she had come to know over the years. All of them pointed her in the same direction—to the front doors of the IAC, or Integrated Armaments Company, headed by a man by the name of Commander Valkyrie.

Unlike Star Fox, whose members all held somewhat varied yet strong morals, members of the IAC were not known for their ethics or for their compassion. Several times, Krystal considered ordering her cab driver to pull over and let her out at the front doorstep of a warm, inviting restaurant. She knew that she would be the odd one out in the PMC—if she was even accepted, that is—but despite her fears and misgivings about enlisting for service, she felt that it was the right decision.

The condition of the buildings around her seemed to deteriorate the closer the taxi came to its destination. Two hoodie-wearing canines snapped a quick glance through her window as she passed the intersection where they stood. The vixen felt the instinctive urge to duck and cover in the event that they had in mind to harm her, but she instead took a deep breath and attempted to calm herself. Corneria City's east side was not known as a safe haven by any means. Fox had rarely ventured into it on his own—let alone with his wife in tow. Yet, it was in the darkest recesses of the city that Krystal's possible future awaited her.

She glanced down at her black military fatigues which she had purchased at a military surplus store a week ago. White Star Fox emblems had been stitched onto both of her jacket's shoulders in the same places where a Cornerian trooper's rank insignia would have been displayed. Letting out a heavy sigh, the vixen looked at herself and shook her head, almost as though she knew that she wasn't acting like herself. Then again, she hadn't been herself since Fox died; and she strongly doubted that would ever change. She ran her fingers through the fur on her tail and whimpered in near silence as not to alert her driver to her agony. These two months had been beyond difficult for her. Friends and complete strangers alike had been by her side the entire time, but the one person who mattered more than all of them was dead, cut down in the prime of life by some heartless mongrel who would have been wise to watch his back. Krystal was no weakling; and with the most important person in her life gone, the one thought that took precedence over all others was avenging his death.

In moments, the taxi driver slowed his car and pulled to the curb bordering a war-torn relic of a building that looked like it had just barely survived the Anglar attacks from five years ago. The concrete that composed most of the structure was riddled with spiderweb cracks, while the condition of the large main doors hinted at the disheveled state of the rest of the building. Several splotches of white paint crisscrossed the dark gray metallic doors, complimenting the numerous bullet holes and scorch marks in providing a foreboding, ramshackle appearance.

Above the door, the title "Integrated Armaments Company" was posted in a black-faced, edgy, modern font with white trim. Curiously, it seemed like the only part of the building's fascia that wasn't about to fall off or collapse in on itself. Taking a deep breath, Krystal tried to decide whether or not to go through with her plan. The black ursine cab driver seemed to notice as well. Turning around in his seat, he asked the vixen, "Are you really sure you want to do this? If you want, I'll take you back to where you got in at no additional charge."

Krystal stopped to assess her options. The volume level in the interior of the cab grew eerily silent, save for the persistent sound of the hard rain crashing down on the roof. Time came to a halt for several tense moments until Krystal dug through her combat pants and pulled out her credit card. Without saying a word, she handed it to the driver, who swiped it and handed it back to her. Knowing that Krystal had made her decision, the bear solemnly nodded to her and whispered, "Take care."

"Thanks," Krystal muttered in reply, opening her door and stepping out into the cold rain. The heavy drops soaked her exposed hair and tail, but the precipitation barely registered in her mind. Her heartbeat began to pound in her chest as she approached the unkempt front doors of the IAC. She feared being taken advantage of by the men of the PMC, knowing that their ethics would not be the same as those of the Cornerian Army or Star Fox. Then there was the question of merely being able to join the company. Despite learning the techniques of marksmanship at a relatively late age, she had become skilled at it. However, the last time she had tasted combat was three years prior to the present date. When Fox was still alive, she had visited the local shooting range with him every so often; but in terms of the actual number of rounds she had discharged, she had only fired off around two thousand after her and Fox's retirement.

"_There's no more time for doubt now."_

Forcing her fears to the back of her mind, she pushed open the right half of the double doors and entered the building. The first thing she noticed once inside was that the IAC building's interior did not match the decrepit state of its outer shell. Notably, the walls and floors seemed relatively new, as did the technological appointments such as plasma-based lighting and eye-catching red LED trim that followed the baseboards within the building. She deduced that room she was standing in was a reception area or a lobby, thanks largely to the office-like space on the left side of the room where a black-furred female shepherd dog pounded away at her keyboard behind a plate of sliding glass.

Mustering up every ounce of courage she could manage, Krystal took a step towards the secretary's cubicle and froze in her tracks when the twin doors on the small room's back wall flew open. A tall, imposing husky wearing a hefty combat uniform marked with prominent rank insignia stomped into the lobby and fixed his eyes on Krystal. His expression betrayed a small portion of curiosity, but this was more than likely due to him taking notice of Krystal's blue fur.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he asked with a commanding, yet calming voice.

Krystal attempted to read his surface-level emotions in an attempt to determine if he was worthy of her trust, but her nervousness prevented her from doing so. Defensively crossing her arms in front of her chest, she replied, "Um…I was hoping to sign up with your company. You _are_ taking applications, right?"

The canine seemed perplexed. He paused for a moment, then pointed towards the small waiting area on the right side of the room where four chairs had been set up to face a flatscreen television that hung on the wall. "Have a seat," he said.

Krystal obeyed and dropped into one of the four uncomfortable plastic chairs before the husky took the seat next to her and moved uncomfortably close to her. After a moment of silence, he asked the vixen, "Why do you have an interest in joining my company? If I'm honest, you don't look like the kind of woman for this job. We don't have very many females here, and the few that we do have are cutthroats. I'm saying this because I don't want you to get the wrong idea of who we are here at IAC."

"I know," Krystal growled in response. "I didn't expect anything less."

"Then—if you don't mind—please explain to me why you're here."

Krystal collected herself and took a deep breath before she admitted, "I'm here because I've got nothing to lose. Everything that ever mattered to me was taken away by force. The only thing I know how to do at this point is fight. I don't even know what to fight for—and that's why I came here to enlist in your PMC. I don't care what you stand for or what you'll have me do if you accept my application. All I need is a reason to live…or a reason to die.

Upon hearing this, the tall canine glared into Krystal's eyes with an earnest, understanding countenance. "Would you say that you're not afraid of death, then?"

"No, not at all," Krystal answered.

"What kind of experience do you have?"

The vixen tensed up her lower lip and replied, "I was a member of Star Fox for five years, and I spent four months in the Cornerian Defense Force after I left the team for a short time. Is that good enough?"

The husky allowed a faint smile to appear on his face. "It should be. After all, Star Fox was responsible for helping to bring the last two systemic wars to an end. If you were good enough for them, I'm sure I'll be able to find a place for you here. The only thing I'm not sure about is your ability to take and execute ground-based jobs as opposed to air and space combat operatives."

"My leader in Star Fox told me that I had the best CQC techniques he'd ever seen," Krystal hinted.

"Is that so? Well then, maybe I'll have to take you on at some point. If I may ask, where did you learn them?" the husky inquired.

"Ever heard of a planet called Cerinia?"

"Yes, actually," the canine replied. "I've been there a few times myself. Beautiful place… at least it used to be."

"Please don't remind me," Krystal murmured, trying her best to hide her emotions from the husky whose mere appearance announced his seniority and rank in the IAC.

"I understand," said he. "On that matter, I know how Cerinians are trained; and if you're being honest about your abilities, you're probably better than you give yourself credit for. Based on that and your past experience, I'll strongly consider letting you join my unit. Before that, though, I need you to prove your weapons proficiency in the training room. If you've got the time, I can evaluate you now."

"That would be great," Krystal assented.

"Excellent. Follow me through these doors. Oh… and before you do, clip this on your jacket." The canine handed Krystal a silver pin in the shape of a gryphon and proceeded through the set of double doors on the entry room's back wall. Krystal stopped for a moment to examine the shiny brooch and sighed as the lighting from the ceiling cascaded off its many ridges and depressions. Then, she pinned it onto her chest pocket and followed the tall husky through the doors into a long corridor.

Numerous doors appeared on both sides of the hall; and from what Krystal could see, they seemed to be rooms for the PMC's members. From the building's outside appearance, the building could not have been very substantial, which led her to believe that the firing range was either relatively small or that the building had an underground level. Her mental question was soon answered by the appearance of a descending staircase that led down to a dimly-lit underground area that appeared far less attractive than the floor above it.

"You'll have to excuse me for the state of the base level," the husky apologized. "We've only moved in here recently, and we're still trying to fix up what was left of this building when the previous owners defaulted on it."

Krystal continued to follow the IAC commander as he turned down a hallway shaft to the left and proceeded forwards until he reached a door marked "Firing Range." Even through the heavily reinforced, sound-deadening metal door, the sounds of shots being fired rang out through the entire lower level. Nearly every type of firearm known to Lylat was accounted for—ballistic weapons, lasers, plasma-based armaments, and even a weapon that created an explosive hissing sound every time it fired.

The noise exploded into the hallway as the husky mercenary opened the door for Krystal and motioned for her to enter. The underground range appeared larger than she expected, although the actual size of the room belied the ergonomically efficient space that it occupied. The vixen glanced back and forth across the shooting area where around thirty booths had been set up. From the sheer amount of noise in the room, it was clear that nearly all of them were occupied. To her relief, partitions that jutted out from both sides of every booth allowed her to go mostly unnoticed as she entered the room. The few mercenaries that were visible from where she stood spanned the full spectrum of anthropomorphic species, from large cats to canines and their lupine relatives. The ranks also contained a smattering of 'exotic' species and races, including a red-colored mantis who had seated himself near the center of the firing area. Krystal noticed that his weapon was the one responsible for creating the percussive hissing noise that effectively drowned out most of the others with its unusual sound.

Momentarily, the husky who had met Krystal in the lobby came to her side and pointed to an open booth to her right, next to the mantis soldier with the unconventional firearm. "You might want some ear protection," he shouted over the tremendous din in the firing area before snatching a set of vulpine-optimized earmuffs off a wall rack behind him and handing them to Krystal. He then led her further to the right, where a large selection of modern weapons rested on wall-mounted pegs.

"Take your pick. No pressure, but I'll be scoring you for comparison reasons," he explained.

"I figured," Krystal growled in reply.

The vixen's eyes darted across the selection of firearms which would have caused almost any self-respecting shooting enthusiast to feel giddy inside. However, Krystal's only goal was finding a weapon similar in design to the blaster that she had used during her tenure with Star Fox. Although the chargeable weapon was not standard military fare, the chassis it was based on had been in heavy use for more than seven years with both assault rifle and submachine gun variants.

It took Krystal only a short amount of time to locate a familiar weapon. The husky next to her began taking mental notes the instant she pulled it off the wall and snatched up a plasma battery from the supply cache below the wall rack. Choice of weapon had a noticeable effect on each of the soldiers' performances; and choosing the wrong weapon for one's frame—or even species—could prove costly if the wrong decision ended up being put to the test in the line of fire.

Feigning confidence, Krystal walked back to the booth that her host had reserved for her and covered her ears with the orange sound-cancellers that had been provided for her. Civilian shooting ranges often required the use of safety glasses during the operation of firearms, but in the IAC's bunker, no one bothered to use them. In fact, many of the mercenaries also elected not to use ear protection.

Plugging the short plasma battery into her weapon, Krystal adjusted the stock to fit her liking and flicked the select fire switch to 'semi-auto'. Spraying plasma all over the back wall seemed like a poor way to make a positive impression on her prospective employer, even though several of the other mercenaries were flagrantly firing belt-fed machine guns at full tilt for the sole purpose of entertainment. Perhaps they viewed it as being enjoyable; but their joy would turn to grief when Commander Valkyrie cut out part of their paychecks and used the proceeds to replace the wasted ammunition.

Ignoring the noise around her, Krystal focused her eyes on a simple target in the middle of the range. Pressing the stock of her weapon into her shoulder, she squeezed the trigger and felt the familiar sensation of recoil as a bolt of plasma erupted from her rifle's muzzle. She watched the yellow streak slice through the air—and miss the target entirely before hitting the back wall and dissipating into a shower of sparks.

The white patches of fur on her face flushed red as she turned around and growled to her host, "That didn't count. Okay?"

"Sure…" he mumbled. "Why don't you prove to me that that wasn't a fluke? Try hitting one of those little moving targets down there."

Krystal growled and armed her weapon once again. Several hanging targets moved from the right side of the room to the left, providing a reasonable challenge for nearly any shooter, no matter how experienced. For someone like Krystal who felt a bit rusty, hitting one of the targets could be a formidable challenge. Regardless of her nerves and her lack of practice, she willed herself to concentrate on the target she had selected. The square tile dropped from the ceiling on the right hand side of the range and began to move to the left with more speed than she expected. Holding in her breath in hopes that it would help to stabilize her aim, she pulled back on the trigger and begged for her shot to strike the target.

The yellow flash of superheated plasma collided with the center of the marker, prompting it to stop moving and ascend into the ceiling. Krystal breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but she quickly refocused herself on knocking down more of the targets. Knowing that the Commander was taking notes regarding her proficiency with a ranged weapon caused her heart rate to rise to a level that made accurate shooting difficult. However, she had been in similar situations before, such as when she fought to hold off the Aparoids in the pyramid on Sauria without any backup or assistance of any kind.

Pushing the limits of her Cerinian-trained mental concentration to their limits, she fired off a series of quick shots at a trio of targets on the left side of the range. All of them hit home, causing the husky behind her to nod in approval. Sweat began to bead up on Krystal's forehead as the unspoken initiation raged on. Several more ceiling targets fell before her shots; and an abnormally small target in the back left corner of the range would have been hers had the insectoid with the unusual gun not claimed it first.

She sincerely hoped her host had noticed that her target had been stolen from her, but for the moment, all she could do was focus on the next target. Two targets rose out of the middle of the range's floor, only to drop back down after being hit by two more precisely-placed plasma bolts. Another series of moving targets dropped from the ceiling, but before she could take aim at any of them, she felt the husky's hand on her shoulder.

"That's enough," he said, not allowing any emotion to appear on his face.

"Did I do alright?" Krystal begged, as if her very life depended on the Commander's answer.

The canine relaxed his mouth into a soft grin. "No. You did superbly. I'm sure I'll have to run through our force-on-force training routines with you; but from what I've seen, you'd be a welcome addition to our unit."

"Thank you, sir," said Krystal, offering her hand.

"It's my pleasure, um…" the Commander paused and raised a nervous eyebrow after realizing that he hadn't even collected his newest prospect's name yet. Feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks, he asked her, "What's your name?"

"Krystal," she replied. "Just Krystal."

The Commander took several short seconds to process her name before he continued, "Krystal, It would be my pleasure to offer you a place to stay while you get acclimated to our lifestyle. I wish I could provide you with your own room, but for now, we're a bit short on space. Let me see…"

Almost on cue, a gray-furred leopardess with long, black hair and pale green eyes exited a firing booth on the left side of the room and began to approach the Commander and his new recruit. As opposed to Krystal's utilitarian combat fatigues, she sported a dark violet-colored bodysuit that reminded Krystal of her own uniform from the Aparoid conflict, minus the provocative, breast-accentuating neckline.

Seizing the opportunity, the Commander yelled, "Taiga, come here please."

The leopardess silently complied and came to her leader's side, facing Krystal with a spark of curiosity in her jade-colored eyes.

"This is Krystal," the Commander explained. "She's new to our way of life, but I believe she's got what it takes to make it in our unit. If it doesn't bother you too much, I'd like to put her in your room with you."

Taiga brought her paw up to her face and stroked her feline muzzle, contemplating all the possibilities that could result from gaining a roommate that she didn't exactly want to have. As a reclusive introvert, she would have preferred to avoid prolonged contact as opposed to rooming with another mercenary. She examined Krystal for clues related to her personality and sighed while she considered allowing the strangely-colored vixen to reside in her room with her.

"_I really should do this, even if I don't really want to. If I don't, she'll probably end up with Tara… and that __definitely__ wouldn't end up well."_

The leopardess returned her gaze to meet her Commander's powerful blue eyes and uneasily replied, "Sure. She can stay with me if you think it's a good idea. She doesn't like to gossip, does she?"

Krystal spoke up and reaffirmed her, "I don't think you'll have anything to worry about. If you need your space, I'll be happy to give it to you."

"Excellent. I think we'll get along just fine," said Taiga, extending her hand for Krystal to shake. "And by the way—welcome to the unit, Krystal."

* * *

_A/N:_

_Well, after over a month, I've finally added another chapter to this story. If you're enjoying ∆-Zero so far, that's good news for you because it means that I intend to continue it unless an unforeseeable occurrence prevents me from doing so. The next chapter should help to provide even more intrigue, so stay tuned! _


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